Guilt Personified
by Naisumi
Summary: A look into a certain someone’s mind and how a relationship went terribly wrong. [Slash]


Title: Guilt Personified 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R/PG-13 

Pairing: You have to read to see ^-^ 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Slash, for one thing. Uh...dark, mature/adult themes ^^; um...right. Lots-o-angst.   


Notes: Whee...after several false starts of future releases that feature S/L plotlines and on P/T, I finally crank out a short fic from my creatively exhausted mind. AKA finally I write something while being inspired o.o A short burst of inspiration, but inspiration nonetheless. Um...right. Heh. Have fun! 

  


Summary: A look into a certain someone's mind and how a relationship went terribly wrong. 

Additional Notes: This is _not_ betad. 

  


Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! Comments and critics welcome, flames will be posted and laughed at and then used for the litter box. 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

-- 

Sometimes I just can't help the way I feel no matter how I know otherwise. It's like some kind of ever-present insect buzzing in the back of my mind; even after I acknowledge that I should reform my judgment and that something doesn't correspond with my snug little paradigm, my thoughts still reset themselves to the old pretenses. It's almost as if my subconscious doesn't know how to be sincere--as if I can never run from the past. Maybe it's because somewhere inside I can't admit I don't know everything, as if every time I make a needless mistake, I'm forsaking some sacred notion; the memory of my parents. 

I'm strange like that. It's as if I _have_ to stay in control of how other people view me--as if I can't stand not being in charge of how my image is painted. I've learned, though, that the mosaic of my personality is hidden from me--I've lost control; never have been in charge. When people tell me I'm a "lovely" person, I can't stand it. It's as if I've made myself out to be a simple jar of clay that wasn't _meant_ to be beautiful or noticeable or _lovely_. I'm like that. I guess I can't stand it when people praise me because I don't deserve it. Yet, who am I to fashion other people's views? But I can't help it. Sometimes I think people start believing me; start believing that I'm worthless just because I say so--it's at those times when I hate them the most; when I hate me the most. They're supposed to see past my self-enforced lies...that's what friends are for. Friends are supposed to _know_--they're not supposed to let reassurances dwindle, not supposed to let themselves take you for granted. But they do...I'm naturally an insecure person; I don't like to admit it but I realize it...I would, anyway, if I was strictly honest with myself. 

I hate that...I hate how I lie to myself, how I view myself as honest and somewhat virtuous only to have that image shattered whenever I look in the mirror. Lies...that's all this life is; lies, deception, abuse and use... 

Sometimes I don't feel real, as if I'm just a ghost, hovering above the ground, bereft of form and solidity--of truth and realization. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm awake, if I'm asleep, if it would matter for me to dash myself on the bitter ground and still be bizarrely alive. Those are the times when I feel ridiculously, numbly, stupidly invincible and largely immortal. But sometimes, I dream. 

It doesn't seem to matter anymore; who cares about the future? I certainly don't anymore. I don't really think about him much...I don't feel a lot of pain, a lot of remorse, a lot of anything. It's just an emptiness--not a pulsing ache, nor a festering wound engraved in my heart. He's gone and now I'm empty. It doesn't take much effort to not think about him; our relationship wasn't very happy anyways. It's odd, really--because I could tell that he loved me. I think I loved him, too...but in the end, it didn't matter. He should've listened to me; I told him I didn't know much, wasn't good in relationships. He just smiled at me in that beautiful reckless way and said, 'Don't worry, we'll make it work.' I didn't believe him then and I never did, just like I never believe myself. Maybe it all fell apart because of my doubt. Love's funny like that. 

When we were together, he tried to hard to make me happy--so, so hard...It almost hurts to think about it. But the more intensely, more fiercely he loved me, the more unhappy I became. I could almost cry. Everything I wanted, he gave me--as much as he could. And yet, I felt nothing...He pulled me into his arms and told me, 'I love you' over and over, but I never said it back. I can remember when he left; the sad, hollow anger smoldering in his eyes. 

'I love you, you know...but it's over. I...I'm sorry. I can't _do_ this anymore! I can't...I can't do this alone. And you're not happy. God help me, I don't know why but _you're not happy_.' Tenderness. Grief. I felt almost alive through his emotion, but I was still smothered by that smoky curtain over my vision, my feelings. 'I love you...But I'm sorry. Good-bye.' 

I wonder sometimes if he's still alive, if he thinks about me. I lied; I do think about him...about us. Always, I try to figure out what went wrong, what cataclysmic error we--I--made that caused our potential happiness to be snuffed out. 

It was me, I know; it always is. Simple, fact, truth. No matter how much anyone denies it, it's always my fault. In this disaster, I knew it was, too. I wonder why I didn't stop it all from plummeting into oblivion...why I didn't try harder, love harder, cry a little harder. No...I couldn't have cried more; I never did. It's impossible to do more of something when you haven't started. But I ruined two years of his life...why don't I feel regret? Is it because he took those fleeting emotions with him? 

That was what attracted me...his ability to invoke these strong electric flashes of emotion, sensation, trembling touches of light. He said he loved me because I was gentle and beautiful and kind...but I didn't believe him. 'It's all animal attraction,' I told him, not sure why I did. He had stared at me, eyes dark, fathomless, devastated. As if I had just destroyed his dreams, destroyed his heart--locked all his hope away in a crystal cage and shattered the key into a thousand pieces. I can't help but puzzle at the pang of remorse I feel at the thought. It's odd; I usually feel nothing. 

The other day I woke abruptly and found my cheeks stained with tears. It frightened me slightly, because I never cry. It just doesn't happen. The scare died away, though, as always, and I was left numb again, mechanically washing away the traces of slumber and salt. The clock read 3:17 and I felt more awake than usual. The night does that to me. Maybe it's because I don't' have to pretend as much--lie as deeply--think as strongly. The world does that; washes you away when you have no opinion. People write all over you like a blackboard with their own thoughts and after a while, cease to expect you to do much besides not and bear it all. I'm not sure what to make of myself; I don't remember being any other way. I speak strongly of beliefs because they are told strongly to me, and what I truly feel, I don't' know. Emotions pass to me analytically, processed first by 'should be's and 'need be's; inhuman logic. I smile and frown and feel nothing throughout. 

They really do view me as a leader. I don't know if I feel irritated or relieved. He told me once, that crazy grin on his lips, lighting up his eyes, 'Let's do something wild--like run through Berksham's field and yell at the moon, or swim up the creek in our clothes--right now, two a.m.--let's not wait!' So excitable--it had sent a thrill up my spine, causing a foreign smile to steal across my face as I agreed. Thinking about that night makes my eyes watery, my disposition shaky. I don't want it to be like that, but I can't help the tide of emotion that floods over me at the mere mention of him. 

"Hey, are you paying attention? Like I was saying, what do you think of this? You agree, right?" I smiled and nodded, saying something assenting. A voice inside me whispered disgustedly, 'God, all of you, just shut up...don't talk to me, I don't _want_ to talk to any of you!' 

I wondered about it, and was about to withdraw from the conversation when Jean smiled at me, emerald eyes catching the fickle sunlight, "Don't brood--it's bad for your health," she joked. I nodded again, and try to fight the rising waves of nausea, pounding, aching--_frustration_. Suddenly, the cheerful chatter was unbearable; the empty space within throbbing painfully, pitifully, thrumming with terrible heat. 

'I hate you all,' the voice hissed and I blinked as everyone turned to stare at me, the sudden silence disquieting. Had I spoken aloud? Before I could stop myself, I plunged on, feeling heady and dizzy and spiraling out of control. 

"I hate you all--damn you! Stop--Stop talking to me--_just stop_! God, you never shut up, do you? All of you, shut the _fuck_ up! I-I can't--" I jerked away from Jean's concerned touch, from the falsely soothing words, "I can't handle this anymore!--no, not handle; I can't _TAKE_ this anymore! All of you..." I realized I was repeating myself, but I didn't care. Seven months' worth of loneliness, fourteen years of emptiness--all of it crashed over me with a startling intensity I wasn't aware I was capable of. I wondered if I was crying, but knew I was not. Maybe all my tears had bled away at night, during dreams--God, those blinding, freezing hot dreams, all silken touches and gentle kisses--God, oh God--I never meant to lose control never meant to hurt him God, I loved him, I love him--I love the way he smiled, whispered, took my hands in his, the way he loved me said my name 'Scott, Scott--it's gonna be okay! I love you and you love me, don't you?' Don't I? Don't I? How can I not I love you so much i love you love you love you i hurt you hurt you hurt you and i'm sorry sorry so sorry so so _so_ sorry i'll never do it again oh god just let me feel you it's all my fault i can't just let me feel and love and touch him again touch you again even though i don't deserve it even though i hurt you even though i should've been happy and happy and happy because i was with Lance and not with them I hate you all for not fixing me so i could be happy with him happy with Lance with Lance all that mattered is that is being happy is Lance oh god, oh god why didn't you fix me why didn't you fix me so i could smile and laugh and cry cry cry so much so i could-- 

... 

... 

... 

... 

... 

i'm sorry. 

  


  


~fin~


End file.
